Alone
by CoyKoi
Summary: A short fic about the relationship between future Gohan and Bulma


Disclaimer: Don't own them.  
Author's Notes: something short I came up with on the verge of a moment. Set in the future time line. Enjoy.  
  
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I recall the first time I ever really _looked_ at Bulma. It was at my dad's funeral. She was so sad and so beautiful with the tears streaming down her face. I realized then that she loved him. My mom loved him, too, dearly, but I think that it hit Bulma harder. Tho my mom truly loved my dad, Bulma had something else to grieve for. She had faith in him, she _beleived_ in him. She knew that as long as Goku was there that everything would be ok, that everything would work out somehow. Her youth and nativity died with him. If it hadn't been for Trunks, I'm sure she would have died herself. I don't even think her love for Vegeta could have kept her here.   
  
She lives in the past now, everyday she slips further away. That's all she talks about. Yesterday. I understand how she feels. Its better not to think about a tomorrow that may never come. Who would have ever guessed life would come to this? Everything was perfect for a brief moment--years ago, when my dad was still around. It seems like a lifetime ago, a wonderful dream amidst an existence of pain and despair. The past is the only thing keeping her sane--her memories. And Trunks.  
  
I pull away and look at her. She's aging, her body has grown softer and she has lost her undying stubbornness, but she is still beautiful. Her blue eyes are a little duller, muted by an unshakable sadness she carries. A sadness that's become a part of her, a part of life. She notices my gaze and almost looks uncomfortable. She asks me if I love her, her voice a soft and shy whisper. I look away, without answering. She already knows.  
  
What we have between us is not love, its need. A need for comfort, a need to remember the past that seems farther away with every passing moment. Each of us was all the other had left. She knew this. I wonder why she even bothers to question me. Its not like she loves _me_. It would be different then, I would understand her asking. But she didn't love me, she was using me. Like I was using her. Her heart still belonged to Vegeta, it always would. I know that. And Bulma was not my first and is not my only. She knows this, too. So what is the point of her asking such a stupid question?  
  
Maybe she wants to make sure we don't go too far, don't get too involved. Somehow I think she's questioning herself as much as she's questioning me. She understands my silence. Nothing has changed. She presses herself against my chest, wrapping her slender arms around my waist, and cries. I comfort her, stroking her silky hair. And a familiar feeling creeps over me.  
  
I have a strange, unnerving notion that Vegeta is still with Bulma, watching over her. And that he isn't very happy about me keeping her company. She talks to him in her sleep. I had nightmares for a week after we first made love. I dreamt that Vegeta had stood by the bed, watching, and was waiting to catch me alone. It was so real. I avoided Bulma for three weeks after that. Well, avoided being _alone_ with her. I still get that feeling sometimes, like he's there, waiting for his chance.  
  
Abruptly, I separate myself from Bulma, gently but firmly pushing her away. She doesn't look at me, doesn't question me. I rise from the bed and quickly dress. Before exiting the room, I hazard a glance at her. She's sitting docily on the bed, staring down at the sheets. I see her tears silently falling, dampening the fabric. I turn from her, stepping into the hall, closing the door behind me.  
  
Her crying has become part of our routine, as have her questions. I hear her muffled sobs through the door. I try not to care. She knew, I tell myself, where we stood before we entered this uneasy arrangement. She knew it could go no further than the physical need, the comfort of having someone close, the desire to share the past. And yet she cries. I continue down the hall, trying to convince myself I'm right, that she is wrong. That she has no right to expect something more from me. And tho my heart chooses not to listen, my will, my mind, and my spirit all agree. So I push aside the small ache felt in my heart, the slight pain and remorse, and step into the bright light of morning to face yet another day. Alone. 


End file.
